


Weddings and Otters

by MycroftexMachina



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 09:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftexMachina/pseuds/MycroftexMachina
Summary: Mitch thinks a lot about otters after Naz’s wedding.





	Weddings and Otters

**Author's Note:**

> sun_reads sounded in desperate needs for something sweet and fluffy. I hope this helps! It’s the best I could do in such a short time.

 

“Just because I played on the Otters doesn't mean I’m a veterinarian, Marns,” Stromer rolls his eyes as he stuffs his face with Mitch’s precious ice cream.

 

“Don't even front it,” Mitch says wrinkling his nose—Stromer never learned to eat with his mouth close, even when there is nothing to chew. “You spent our last year in the O sending me texts about otters’ curious facts.”

 

“Because otters are the shit,” Stromer replies.

 

“And they like to hold hands,” Mitch repeats for the fifth time since he and Dylan got together for ice cream and to catch up.

 

“Otters don't have hands, Marns,” Stromer objects waving his hand, and his spoon filled with chocolate ice cream, all over the place.

 

“Fine, then,” Mitch sighs. “Paws. Otters like to hold paws. So they don’t drift apart.”

 

“If you say so,” Stromer smirks.

 

“I seem to remember some very heartfelt text you sent Davo about it that he screenshot for posterity,” Mitch smirks back, because Stromer is a fucking romantic and Davo likes to show that off whenever he can.

 

Stromer blushes brightly and says nothing, since there is nothing to say.

 

“What is this new obsession with otters, Marns?” Stromer asks him. “Because no offense, but I thought you were more of a dog kind of guys.”

 

“It’s not an obsession about otters,” Mitch mutters eating a spoonful of hazelnut ice cream. It almost tastes like Nutella, which in Mitch’s opinion is the Ninth Wonder of the World. The Eighth is hockey, of course.

 

“With holding hands, then,” Stromer says.

 

Mitch says nothing even if he’s the one who called Stromer to begin with.

 

“Marns?” Stromer repeats looking at Mitch curious.

 

“It’s nothing,” Mitch mumbles.

 

“Mitchy,” Stromer says.

 

“I went to Naz’s wedding last weekend,” Mitch begins, trying to find a way to communicate what he’s trying to say to Stromer without sounding like a moron.

 

“Yes,” Stromer acknowledges looking at Mitch puzzled. “You told me you had a lot of fun and that the food was awesome. Plus I saw the videos on Insta.”

 

“Right,” Mitch says. “We danced.”

 

“I would imagine so,” Stromer comments. “You also danced at Carrick’s wedding.”

 

“Naz’s was different,” Mitch explains. “Like, there was this very cool group of musicians who played Middle Eastern music and Naz and his relatives taught us some Lebanese dances.”

 

“That sounds like fun,” Stromer smiles.

 

“It was,” Mitch agrees. “Mo really got into it and Hyms was remarkably good at it. Gards looked ridiculous, though.”

 

“So did you, probably,” Stromer chirps him.

 

“Fuck off, Stromer,” Mitch laughs, used to his friends making fun of his awesome moves. He’s an excellent dancer, thank you very much. He took ballroom dancing lessons with his mom one summer, though nobody— _nobody_ —knows about it and the dance instructor promised to take the secret to her grave. She also said Mitch has a stellar sense of rhythm.

 

“You fuck off, Marns,” Stromer replies.

 

“So, anyways,” Mitch continues, “there was this dance where we were in a semi-circle and we had to hold hands.”

 

“Ah,” Stromer says getting another spoonful, of vanilla ice cream this time since Stromer likes traditional flavors.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “It was pretty neat, actually, and the footwork of some of Naz’s uncles was insane. It rivals Davo’s edge work.”

 

“Don't tell him that,” Stromer warns Mitch. “You know how competitive he gets.”

 

“No shit,” Mitch laughs, well acquainted, like the rest of the world, with Davo’s competitiveness.

 

“So …,” Stromer says, implicitly inviting Mitch to continue.

 

“So we had to hold hands,” Mitch repeats.

 

“Hence your newly founded obsession with otters,” Stromer surmises correctly.

 

“Sort of, yeah,” Mitch says. “I guess.”

 

“Marns,” Stromer says.

 

“I had to hold Matty’s hand,” Mitch adds hastily.

 

“Okay,” Stromer says, looking ever more puzzled than when Mitch asked him about otters and their habits.

 

“And I never did before,” Mitch explains.

 

“You never held Auston Matthews’ hand?” Stromer asks. “That doesn't surprise me.”

 

“Of course I held Matty’s hand,” Mitch huffs.

 

Stromer widens his eyes.

 

“We shake hands on a regular basis, Dyls,” Mitch points out. “And we help each other off floors and couches.”

 

“That’s not exactly the same,” Stromer points out reasonably.

 

“Then you see my problem,” Mitch exclaims.

 

Stromer, however, looks like he doesn't see any problem, though he’s clearly thinking about phoning a friend and asking for help.

 

“You’re looking at me like I’m insane,” Mitch whines.

 

“I’m looking at you like you’re insane because you _are_ insane,” Stromer snorts. “I thought I’d learned to decipher you when we were teenagers, but I guess I was wrong. Should I call Dvo?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Mitch objects horrified. “Dvo is friends with Matty. I don't want him to know about this.”

 

“About what? How you suddenly discovered the joys of holding Auston Matthews’ hand?” Stromer jokes.

 

“It was amazing, Dyls,” Mitch whispers, blushing brightly under Stromer’s shocked eyes but unable to stop himself. “Like, his hands are bigger than mine, you know? Hell, he’s bigger than me, and I’ve always known _that_ , and I’ve also always known he has big hands. I mean, you’ve seen how he handles the puck and his stick work is impressing. It’s not like I don't spend a lot of time watching his hands when he tapes his stick or something.”

 

“Or something,” Stromer mouths, clearly finding the route this convo has taken unexpected.

 

“Not like that,” Mitch objects blushing ever more.

 

“I’d hope so, Marns,” Stromer says going back to his ice cream. “I am supposed to be your bestie.”

 

“Which is why I am talking to you about this,” Mitch says.

 

“About Auston Matthews’s amazing hands?” Stromer asks arching his eyebrows.

 

“Among other things,” Mitch mutters.

 

“Okay,” Stromer says sucking on his spoon like the obnoxious ass he is. He can, because they’re at Mitch’s place and he wouldn't dare if they were out. “So you’re telling me you’ve fallen for Matthews’ hands. Or Matthews’…,” Stromer waves his spoon around again, trying and failing to find a noun to describe what is going on with Mitch.

 

“Right,” Mitch exhales.

 

“That new?” Stromer asks nonchalant.

 

“Who the fuck knows?” Mitch says. “We spend all our free time together. When we’re not together we spend all the time texting and Snapchatting. Sometimes we even call each other. For all I know it started when we met.”

 

“And you figured it out now?” Stromer inquires, trying to sound like he doesn’t think Mitch is moron and failing by a mile.

 

“I hadn’t held his hand before,” Mitch defends himself.

 

“Mitchy,” Stromer begins but he doesn't manage to go far.

 

“You don't understand,” Mitch says.

 

“That’s for sure, bro, what with not having had the privilege,” Stromer replies seraphic as if he doesn't go putty whenever Davo holds his hand. Or hugs him. Or touches him. Mitch has his number.

 

“There is something very intimate about interlacing your fingers with someone else’s,” Mitch says. “Like, we're used to physical manifestations of affections, right? What with being hockey players.”

 

“And loving to cuddle,” Stromer points out.

 

Mitch laughs. “And loving to cuddle,” he agrees, remembering that long-ago interview they did where they both confessed their love of cuddling.

 

“But,” Mitch continues, “We don't really interlace fingers, right? So it’s something I never had done with Matty.”

 

“Makes sense,” Dylan says getting up and grabbing the whole pint of chocolate ice cream from Mitch’s freezer, seemingly having decided to commit to Mitch’s craziness.

 

“And he has these huge hands,” Mitch says dreamingly. “They’re soft, but strong, and a bit callused but not much ‘cause it’s the summer.”

 

“That bodes well,” Stromer comments.

 

“That he doesn't have a lot of calluses?” Mitch asks perplexed.

 

“That he has huge hands. It’s a good indication about the size of his dick,” Stromer smiles shark-like.

 

“I already know the size of his dick, Stromer,” Mitch rolls his eyes. “We do share a locker room, after all. And I thought it was the feet that were an indication.”

 

“You never know,” Stromer replies. “Maybe he’s a shower and not a grower.”

 

“I don't want to talk about Matty’s dick with you,” Mitch blushes.

 

“Neither do I, to be honest,” Stromer admits. “But you seem so taken.”

 

“With his _hands_!” Mitch shoots back.

 

“Hands, dicks,” Stromer shrugs. “It’s all the same.”

 

“That’s it,” Mitch huffs picking up his phone and dialing Davo’s number.

 

“That was fast,” Davo says when he picks up. “Dylan already left?”

 

“Dylan is still here,” Mitch grumbles putting Davo on speaker. “He’s being a dick. When are you coming to get him?”

 

“He’s meeting me at my place, Marns,” Davo reminds him amused. “What has he done this time?”

 

“Nothing,” Dyls complains. “I’m sitting here eating ice cream while Marns extols Auston’s hands’ virtues. I am being the perfect best friend.”

 

“Auston’s hands?” Davo asks.

 

“It’s a thing, apparently,” Stromer explains, all helpful. “They’re good for holding.”

 

“Ah,” Davo seems to agree with Mitch’s assessment. “Turning into an otter, aren’t you, Marns?”

 

“Not you, too, Davo,” Dylan groans while Mitch pumps a fist in the air feeling completely vindicated. “He’s been asking me about otters holding hands since I got here.”

 

“Well,” Davo says, “he’s got a point.”

 

“Matthews is not an otter,” Dyls reminds everyone, ignoring Mitch’s celebrations. “Neither is Marns.”

 

“But Mitchy is into Auston’s hands?” Davo asks for clarification.

 

“So it seems,” Dyls confirms.

 

“So why are you still in Toronto?” Davo asks. “Isn't Auston back in Arizona?”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch sighs saddened by the reminder. “He’s coming back in a few weeks, though.”

 

“So what?” Davo says. “Go visit him. He came up for your shindig, didn't he?”

 

“That way you can see if the hand holding was a fluke or it’s for life,” Stromer points out.

 

“Knowing Marns, it’s for life, Dyls,” Davo says.

 

“Probably,” Stromer agrees.

 

“I guess,” Mitch says, since Connor and Dylan know him well. “You don't think it’s too soon?” he adds, worried he’s going to come off as too needy if he goes to Scottsdale two weeks after Auston came to Toronto.

 

“Doesn't he, like, invite you nine times each summer?” Stromer reminds him.

 

“Not nine,” Davo corrects Dylan. “It was seven last summer and five this month alone.”

 

“Six,” Mitch confesses. “He asked if I would fly down at some point this month. He wants to show me the sights.”

 

“The sights?” Stromer makes his stupid face, the one where he thinks he’s being obnoxiously cute when he’s only being obnoxious.

 

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be a good influence on each other?” Mitch asks Davo. “Because from what I see Stromer’s manners aren’t improving.”

 

“I only perform hockey miracles, Marns,” Davo replies primly. “My dick is not magical.”

 

“Well,” Stromer interjects. “It does have its moments.”

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Mitch pleads, hiding his face in his hands. “You are the mature one, Davo.”

 

“I mean, it’s Stromer, Marns,” Davo defends himself. “I can only do so much.”

 

“You guys have been together for half a decade,” Mitch says. “I would like to see you being more effective than this.”

 

Davo snorts while Stromer continues to eat Mitch’s ice cream, not worried about being not up to Mitch’s standards.

 

“What?” Dyls asks, mouth covered in chocolate, when Mitch sends him a withering stare. “I’m the god of good manners. You just need to get laid, Marns. Or hold hands with American Hockey Jesus, whatever comes first. Davo’s right. Hop on a plane and go visit him.”

 

“You’re taking me to the airport, Dyls,” Mitch grumbles, but he grabs his tablet and starts looking up flights for Phoenix.

 

“I’ll drive,” Davo pipes him, since he doesn't like to be left out. He didn't come over today because he had some media shit to do for the Oilers or something. Mitch is actually surprised he picked up when he called.

 

“Whatever,” Mitch says, “as long as I get to Pearson we can invite the whole city.”

 

“Brownie and Hymie are in town,” Stromer reminds him.

 

“So is Nylander,” Davo adds.

 

“No Leafs,” Mitch puts an end to that plan immediately. “They can’t keep a secret to save their lives.”

 

“It will have to be just me and Davo, Marns,” Stromer smiles. “Don't you worry. We’ll get you to your boy in one piece.”

 

***

 

Auston is elated when Mitch tells him he is thinking on coming to visit for a few days. But then, Auston is always elated with he’s in Mitch’s company, so Mitch wasn't terribly surprised.

 

“Stay with us?” Auston asks him the night before Mitch is due to leave.

 

“I booked a hotel,” Mitch tries to object.

 

“My dad would never forgive you,” Auston says.

 

“I don't want to impose,” Mitch hesitates still.

 

Auston opts for the big guns: “My _mom_ would never forgive you.”

 

“Oh, god,” Mitch says terrified. No one is brave enough to mess with Ema Matthews and Mitch isn’t going to start. “Fine, but you’re taking me somewhere where I can buy some flowers and some alcohol for them.”

 

“Absolutely,” Auston agrees.

 

Davo and Dylan do drive Mitch to the airport safely. They also gift him a book on otters that Mitch reads on the plane, so the joke is on them. Otters are pretty cute and Mitch loves them, regardless of the fact that they’re the name of his nemesis junior team.

 

Mitch lands in Phoenix in the early afternoon. It’s oppressively warm, but not as humid as it was in Toronto.

 

Auston is waiting for him just outside of Arrivals, his car idling in a No Stopping zone, because that’s Auston Matthews and driving in a nutshell.

 

“Too unchill to park like a normal person?” Mitch asks him once he’s deposited his luggage in the back seat.

 

“Fuck off, Marns,” Auston says, dragging Mitch into a bear hug. “Thanks for coming.”

 

“Thanks for having me,” Mitch smiles brightly. He’s happy to see Matty, and even happier to see Matty happy to see him. It’s so them.

 

“We’re going to a strip mall for your guest needs and then home. My mom prepared a banquet,” Auston explains getting into the airport traffic.

 

“I am sorry,” Mitch says.

 

“Don't even go there, Mitchy,” Auston says, putting his right hand on Mitch’s knee. “She loves you and she was so happy when I told her you were coming.”

 

“Oh,” Mitch says. “I’m glad,” he adds.

 

They talk about nothing while in the car—there isn’t much to catch up with when you talk regularly—and Matty helps Mitch choosing some flowers for Ema and some good scotch for Brian.

 

The Matthews welcome Mitch like a long lost son, which is really neat and makes Mitch feel less guilty about imposing on their hospitality.

 

“Nonsense,” Ema tells him when Mitch apologizes about it. “We’re glad you finally accepted Auston’s invitation.”

 

“And if you keep bringing this kind of gifts, you’re welcome to stop by weekly,” Brian teases him, which earns him a swat from Ema and a “Dad!” from Auston. Mitch giggles amused by Auston’s parents’ antics. They’re a very loving couple and so proud of all their children.

 

Dinner is a boisterous affair, with Alex and Breyana regaling Mitch with embarrassing stories about Auston’s childhood and Ema deploying the much dreaded memory album—Mitch is familiar with the concept, since his mom has one, too. Auston takes the ribbing good-naturedly, looking delighted by the welcome his family is showering on Mitch.

 

After dinner, Mitch helps cleaning up and then he and Auston retreats in Auston’s room, which has an extra bed.

 

“This is good, right?” Auston asks solicitous.

 

“Of course,” Mitch smiles. “It’s perfect.”

 

Auston’s childhood bedroom is not very different from Mitch’s, really. There is a lot of Coyotes stuff, naturally, instead of tons of Leafs merchandise, but that’s it.

 

“You really should add some Leafs things,” Mitch smirks, “just in case some reporter manages to sneak in and take some pictures.”

 

“I know,” Auston groans. “It’s just that …”

 

“What?” Mitch asks when Auston falls silent.

 

“So much has changed since I was a kid, you know?” Auston says. “And I traveled a lot then. It was nice to come back to something that never changed. It still is.”

 

Mitch nods, understanding the feeling of being uprooted that Auston is describing.

 

“I get it,” he says. “My room at home is the same, too.”

 

When Mitch goes to dig out some sleeping clothes, he deposits his otter book on the bed.

 

“What’s that?” Auston asks curious. It makes sense, since Mitch is not a reader.

 

“Davo and Dyls gave it to me when they drove me to Pearson this morning,” Mitch explains.

 

“A book on otters?” Auston asks.

 

“Otters are awesome,” Mitch protests.

 

“I’m not going to fight you on that, Marns, chill,” Auston laughs, flipping through the book. “It’s just a weird gift.”

 

“Davo and Stromer are weird,” Mitch points out. “And I was asking Dyls about otters, so I guess he was trying to help?”

 

“About otters?”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch says, realizing he hasn't really thought this through. He didn't make a plan in Toronto about how to bring up the whole ‘I really liked to interlace my fingers with yours’-business with Auston. Otters are a good place to start, he figures.

 

“Why?” Auston asks, noticing that Mitch earmarked some pages.

 

“Otters hold hands,” Mitch explains.

 

“Hands?” Auston repeats amused.

 

“God, you and Stromer are impossible. Paws. Otters hold paws to prevent slipping apart when they’re asleep.”

 

“That’s cute,” Auston smiles. “From what I can see here, they also build slides along riverbanks to play with.”

 

“I know, right?” Mitch sits next to Auston excitedly. “Dyls didn't know that, I’m pretty sure. They’re also very chatty and they can get super pissy if they don't get their way. Oh,” he adds, grabbing the book and finding the picture he’s thinking of, “and this is a mom holding her little baby otter because he can’t swim yet.”

 

Auston’s eyes are fond at Mitch’s enthusiasm when he looks at Mitch, who blushes brightly, since this is what he does best of late.

 

“So what’s this new fascination of yours with aquatic mammals?”

 

“It’s more a fascination with hand holding,” Mitch confesses.

 

“Animal hand holding?” Auston asks. “Because there are others who do that, I think.”

 

“No, not animals,” Mitch explains looking at Auston serious.

 

“Okay,” Auston says, patently not understanding.

 

“So, uhm, you remember Naz’s wedding?” Mitch says.

 

“How could I forget?” Auston smiles ruefully. “The hangover alone will go down in the annals of history.”

 

“I know!” Mitch says. Naz and his wife had opted for serving alcohol for their non-Muslim friends and open bars are always irresistible to a bunch of twenty-something hockey players.

 

“Anyway,” Mitch carries on, “remember that dance where we had to hold hands?”

 

“It was pretty insane,” Auston comments. “Didn't think Mo had it in him. Or Naz, for that matter.”

 

“That’s the hand holding I was thinking about,” Mitch says, because now it’s not the time to chirp his teammates.

 

“You were thinking of holding Naz’s hand?” Auston asks clearly perplexed.

 

“I wasn't holding Naz’s hand when we danced, Matty, do keep up,” Mitch tells him.

 

“Oh,” Auston says, “right, you weren’t. Didn't you do a turn with Hyms?”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch exhales. Neither he, nor Dyls or Davo, had counted on Auston being this dense.

 

“Oh,” Auston repeats, realizing Mitch is staring at him. “Oh!” he says a third time when things finally click.

 

“Oh,” Mitch echoes. Then, he grabs Auston’s right hand with his left and interlaces their fingers again, just to see if something has changed.

 

Nope: still a state of existential bliss. Holding Auston Matthews’ hand is apparently paradise.

 

Auston looks at their hands together before raising his eyes to Mitch’s.

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

“Did I reduce you to speak monosyllabically?” Mitch asks with a smirk.

 

“Monosyllabically?”

 

“It means words which have only one syllable,” Mitch clarifies. “Like ‘oh’.”

 

“I know what monosyllabically means, Marns,” Auston rolls his eyes. “I didn't think you would.”

 

“Hyms is trying to improve my vocabulary,” Mitch confesses.

 

“Not a bad idea,” Auston muses.

 

“Matty,” Mitch slaps him on the shoulder with his free hand, which requires some maneuvering. “Could we focus on the important stuff here?”

 

“Right,” Auston nods. “The important stuff being hand holding.”

 

“To start with,” Mitch smiles toothily.

 

“I mean,” Auston says turning fully towards Mitch, “I’m on board with the idea, don't get me wrong. But I’m a bit surprised that inviting you here for more than a year didn't clue you in about how I feel, but holding my hand at Naz’s wedding opened your mind to new possibilities.”

 

“In my defense, your hands are pretty awesome,” Mitch continues to smile, trying to look captivating.

 

“In your defense, you are pretty slow,” Auston shoots back, biting his lower lip to stop a laugher from erupting.

 

“Whatever,” Mitch says. “At least I figured it out and did something about it.”

 

“Who told you to come? McDavid or Strome?” Auston asks with a smirk.

 

“Davo,” Mitch confesses. “But I was already thinking about it.”

 

“And I was thinking about coming back earlier,” Auston says. “So we’re even.”

 

“Okay,” Mitch says. “So what do you think about hand holding?”

 

“You’re right,” Auston smiles leaning in. “It’s a good place to start.”

 

The kiss lasts less than a second before Mitch pulls back.

 

“Remind me to ask Stromer if otters kiss, too.”

 

Auston groans and then proceeds to shut Mitch up for the rest of the evening.

 


End file.
